Chapter 87: The Pavilion of Myriad Arts
The Pavilion of Myriad Arts stood like a relic from a forgotten age, its three-story silhouette deceptively plain, as if plucked from a mortal village. Gray stone walls, weathered and moss-streaked, rose unadorned, their cracks swallowing the daylight. Weathered wood and chipped paint, the structure's eaves sagging under the weight of neglect.
Wild grasses clawed at its foundations, swallowing the lower steps whole. At first glance, it might have been some abandoned mortal tavern, left to rot.
Yet the structure hummed—a subtle, bone-deep pulse that pressed against Lordi Payne's senses, heavy with secrets. The sealed gate, carved with faded runes, was flanked by two emerald gauze palace lanterns, their eerie green flames flickering even under the noon sun. The light they cast was wrong—sickly, pulsing faintly as if breathing, staining the ground beneath them the color of drowned moss.
Lordi Payne lingered at a distance, eyes scanning the empty grounds. No guards, no disciples stood watch—only sparrows nesting under the sagging eaves, their chirps absurdly cheerful against the pavilion's silent menace.
Distrust gnawed at him, gradually souring his faith in Kinson Wexford. That Bloodline Lord's promised to Lordi Payne that Lady Joanie's patronage meant Fairy Lith's official intervention in his matter which would shield him completely from every threat. Well, to him that is flimsy, the assurances rang hollow.
"That bastard Chou Ease bragged he was Sect Successor Chou's clan brother. And look where that got him. A corpse cooling in the dirt." Lordi's lips twitched, grim. "Sect Successors, Bloodline Lords—these overload deterrence names couldn't scare the slaughter mind at the critical moment of life and death. Fairy Lith, her highness's promises won't stop a murder's claw."
Speaking of Fairy Lith...
Lordi Payne's thoughts churned. Well, he himself was confused and baffled about his relationship tie with Fairy Lith.
What's her game? He pictured himself in her place—a Sect Successor, an Immortal Master, a Holy Saint, an Abyss Pit Sect Overlord, lofty and untouchable.
If some lowborn girl jumped on his bed, forced him to dual-cultivate with her? "Well, hmm, that's... that's fine maybe. That wouldn't be a big loss to me anyway." Perhaps after the bedding, he'd even toss that female cultivator some benefits, offer her some minor protection.
His face darkened, and then a flush creeping up his neck.